


Something to Rely On

by xlaurra



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlaurra/pseuds/xlaurra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond feels old. He feels lonely. And he can't get that bloody big-haired, bright-eyed youngster from Q branch out of his mind. Two-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit (okay very) new and rubbish so forgive me if my tags are messed up or this is horrific or something else goes wrong. Please feel free to inform me of any mistakes that I've made with etiquette and rules. And... Enjoy!

He wasn’t old.

Bond twisted the cold metal of his shower meter, seething anger at himself- and the world for that matter- bubbling through his veins. He was one of the agents that bloody Service needed. Not some old-age pensioner close to retirement.

He eyed his scars in the mirror. War wounds, he thought dryly. And what a war he’d been in.

Now, he’d have an undoubtedly poor night’s sleep, tossing and turning, not thinking, of well… Him.

Bond had never relied on anyone. Hell, being an orphan had taught him you couldn’t. Being swept up into the deep dark world of MI6 had done little more than prove his suspicions. People were no more than potential threats. And those who weren’t a threat would bugger off and leave him anyway.

But lately he’d… wanted to. He wanted someone to rely on. Someone who would reassure him that he wasn’t just an ageing failure, soon to be slung out on the pile of used agents that had been lucky enough to avoid death.

God, he wanted someone.

But all his lustful thoughts, his tries at relationships only seemed to bring death and disaster. Watching Vesper’s life slip from her had been what practically pushed him over the edge. He’d had enough of death to last a lifetime. Or so he thought. It was in his blood, programmed in his brain, embedded in his bones. His job was to kill. His job was for his country.

Great, now he was a damned patriot.

Bond felt the crisp cool sheets beneath his skin as he slipped into his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t help thinking what _he_ would feel like to hold while he slept. Warm and soft, another body next to him, easing the pain and loneliness he secretly felt. He had been making a recurring and downright bloody scary appearance in his dreams. It made Bond question everything he’d ever known. He liked women. He liked to chase pretty women he met in bars, the vixens, the ones who wanted him. But only temporarily. They usually left or were taken down, swept up in the horrible _industry_ he’d dedicated his life to and swept out of it just as quickly.

Still. He liked females. He liked the female anatomy. It was all he’d known. Well, aside from that, ahem, incident that of course resulted from far too much alcohol.

Perhaps, he thought uneasily, almost uncomfortable at the possibility of people reading his mind, it was his delicate, almost feminine features that made him so… desirable. The mop of dark hair was just ridiculously tempting, and there was a definite fragility to his slight frame, the high cheekbones, the pointed jaw.

He had no idea of the age difference. He could be any age from bloody 18- Bond pulled a face at the thought- to late twenties. His sharp, observant features showed youthful intelligence. But gave nothing away.

His thoughts flitted around again. He was so pale. His skin could be cool for all he knew, like an ornate statue. He imagined his body was just as delicately defined as his facial features. Bond was genuinely… intrigued to find out. See him. Satisfy the longing thoughts to just _know_.

Bond swallowed a lump in his throat at his body’s reaction to the thought. How could he go back from this? Walk into the building tomorrow like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t been thinking some very inappropriate thoughts about someone potentially half his age and _male_ no less.

He realised, with an inward groan, he wanted to hear his voice. The amount of times the object of his affections raised his ridiculous mug to his lips, Bond didn’t imagine he slept much with caffeine in his veins. Plus, sleep would mean tearing his slender fingers from the keyboard of his laptop for longer than 30 seconds.

Bond toyed with his earpiece for a couple of minutes, eyeing the clock. 1am. Too pushy?

Well he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep otherwise.

He waited for the connection, his heart pounding uncomfortably. What would he think? Would he spend his day tomorrow telling his branch that 007 rang him at 1am to just _talk_. Like some sad lonely old man?  
He nearly jumped out of his skin when ‘007?’ rang out, clearly and inquisitively in his ear.  
“Q.” he responded croakily, swallowing his nerves.  
“Is there a problem?”  
“No, no problem.” God. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a teenager.  
“Good.” Bond sensed a tiny hint of amusement in his angelic tone. He nearly felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment. “Do you have a clock nearby?”

Bond’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the question.  
“Well, yeah.”  
“Have you seen the time?” now there was definite amusement in his tone. Was he… teasing him? Bond’s throat went dry. He was so used to being in control of this… relationship on missions that the smirking tone in his ear ignited new emotions he didn’t even know he had.  
“If you could drag yourself away from your computer for five seconds you’d realise it too and be asleep like normal human beings.” Bond responded calmly. A miracle considering his far-from-calm heart rate.  
“You’re awake too. What does that make you?”  
“So much more.” Bond quipped. Two could play at this game.

  
The soft chuckle in his ear told him he was doing the right thing. He could imagine him, sat in front of his laptop perhaps cross-legged, but what would he be wearing? Those ridiculous cardigans couldn’t surely be his nightwear as well. What if he was… never mind.

“You’re supposed to have a meeting with M in about-” _he_ didn’t even pause. “Six hours, fourteen minutes and twenty four seconds.”  
“Your brain is ridiculous.”  
“How do you think I got my job?” he responded smoothly. “My statement was supposed to be an indication that your sleeping pattern should probably be altered.”  
“I realised.” Bond chuckled. “You’re probably right. I shouldn’t have called you so late.”  
“No, it’s, it’s alright.” he faltered for the first time. Bond heard the unmistakable sound of him clearing his throat. “But get some sleep or M will string you up on the ceiling.”  
“True. Goodnight, Q.” a smile crept over his lips.  
“Goodnight… James.”

The connection cut off abruptly. Bond’s mouth dropped open slightly, his jaw slack as he pulled out his ear piece in shock. Had he just… Broken MI6 etiquette? First-naming him?

What the bloody hell did that mean?

Bond’s heart was still working to a rapid rhythm. The way his first name had sounded coming from him… He swallowed audibly again.

Tomorrow- or today, he thought nervously- would be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Bond was not the kind of man who would dress to impress on a work day. Especially not when the impressee was a highly intelligent youth who could probably analyse his dirty little secret from seventeen kilometres away. He could see it now, the sympathetic look, perhaps even one of disdain. Would he have time to tell his other colleagues before Bond arrived?

Oh god. If M found out he was contacting Q for personal reasons, he thought he would die of embarrassment. How would he wriggle his way out of this one? Not only would his professionalism be questioned once more, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to look her in the eye again. Which would only heighten her suspicions.

Bond had done some scary missions in his time. He’d been physically battered, whipped, beaten countless times, shot, punched, scratched. Scarred. But he always assured himself it left no mental damage. Purely just the odd pink line perhaps slightly raised on his skin. Each with its own story. 

He’d lost count. People could point at a puckered mark on his torso and he wouldn’t have the foggiest whose blow it would be the result of or which country it happened in. Sickening really. 

Anyway, he’d felt pain. He’d felt death, so close he could taste it on his lips. He’d felt a million and one things. 

But he’d never, ever felt uncertainty about his sexuality. 

Walking into the MI6 building though, he didn’t think he’d ever felt so confused. He desperately tried to look around, catch a female’s eye. See how it felt. See if Q had wormed his way into his brain completely. A woman in a perhaps slightly too low-cut top smiled and he gave a half-hearted twitch of his lips back, too distracted. 

Distracted.

Too distracted.

Well there was his bloody answer. 

His fingers clenched involuntarily into a fist. Now his mind would be completely diverted away from the matter at hand, not something M would take lightly.  
And what if he saw him? There was bound to be mention of these late-night phone calls, the shameless attempts at flirting. Bond wracked his brains. Could he have mistaken Q’s teasing? Made himself look like even more of an idiot than he already felt?

He hoped not. 

Bond had certainly been around. Every new mission bought a new, eager woman to his side-and eventually his bed. They were all so… impressed. Impressed by his muscles and his scars and his smooth speech. And he secretly despised those who fawned over his experiences like they were something to be proud of.

So he never, well, rarely felt attachment to them. A quick shag before he jetted off back to London, the only reminder of his mission another scattering of bruises. They were just… a body to him. 

But with Q, he wanted him to just be there. With him. A companion. Yes, probably a romantic companion, he admitted. But not in just a physical way like everyone else. The companionship was more important to him. The emotional level.

Here he was, coining these deep ideas in his head when he knew nothing about the man. He knew he was unbelievably intelligent, with a quiet, fairly dry sense of humour. He knew he drank enough tea to sink a ship, and he knew he was very visually desirable. 

But he didn’t know anything more than anyone else in the MI6 building. And that made him feel quite… Not angry. Not cheated as such. Just quite sad.

He’d reached M’s office. Sighing, he forcefully pulled his fingers away from his palm, which he knew would be tarnished with moon-shaped indents from his nails, and knocked.

As predicted, his mind was far too occupied to hear her speak. 

“007 am I keeping you?” her voice was clipped as she broke out of her rhythm.  
“No m’am.” His voice said quite the opposite. He hadn’t meant to sound so bored, and he tried to make his eyes genuinely apologetic. It wasn’t her fault he was in this state.  
“Go and see Q for your documents then come back. I’ll make time to talk to you when you actually realise the urgency of the matter.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes- now she was just being irritable- he stood up, cold realisation washing over him as her words rang in his ears.

See Q. 

He made his way to Q branch, his hands surprisingly slick with sweat. Still, his lips curved into an amused smile as he saw Q typing furiously away, completely oblivious to his colleagues. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his front teeth tugging at the pink flesh of his lower lip for a brief moment.  
A few members of Q branch murmured a quiet ‘good morning sir’ as Bond walked past, but he ignored them, his eyes fixed on Q’s face as he glanced up. This was a good sign, but then again, he couldn't really picture Q as much of a gossip. Their eyes met and his stomach did a strange flip of nerves.  
“M sent me.” was his only comment.  
“Ah, 007.” Bond registered the use of his numbers in the professional environment. “Just through here.”

He followed Q away from watchful eyes into a small, but clearly personal office.  
“They found you an office here then?” he asked. Anything to break the silence. Anything to hear his voice  
“Clearly.” Q smiled slightly, closing the door. Bond noticed this. Surely it was just the handing over of an envelope? Did this mean they’d be here for longer? “All your official documents are here. Your equipment is still being tested. You’ll have it all in your flat by tomorrow morning.”  
“I can pick it up from here.” Bond offered.  
“It can be delivered.” Q replied, their hands brushing slightly as Bond took the envelope. He swallowed audibly. 

“Thank you.” Bond turned to leave.  
“James? I mean, 007.” 

Bond couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at his slip up. Q looked genuinely scared at using his name. Was that why the call had cut off so quickly last night? 

Was Q nervous about being so… Personal?

“Yes, Q?”  
“Could we talk? About last night?” 

“Sounds ominous.” Bond tucked the letter into his jacket pocket. This was like role reversal again. Q was now the slightly hesitant one, and Bond was the one who could hopefully slip a few teases in, since the younger man was clearly still aware of the need for professionalism.  
“You never told me while you rang so late.”

‘Because you’re the only one I wanted to talk to.’ Ran through Bond’s mind. He bit his tongue to hold back the fateful words.

“I don’t really know why.” He said truthfully. It was truthful. He didn’t know why any of this made him feel the way he did. He didn’t have a bloody clue. 

Q seemed understandably displeased with the answer. But he didn’t press it.

Bond liked him even more for that.

“Well I hope whatever the reason was, it helped.” Q readjusted his glasses, avoiding Bond’s gaze. “And I apologise, if I’ve crossed some barriers recently. It was unintentional.”

Bond shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with you using my name.” Damn right he didn’t. He’d never enjoyed hearing it come from anyone else more. “On one condition.”

Q looked slightly nervous, but gestured for him to elaborate. 

“You tell me yours.” 

Bond wanted to know the little things. But he needed the basics first. And their line of work prevented something as simple as that. A tiny spark of dislike for the service settled itself in his brain. 

“I can probably get it from a file somewhere.” He continued. “But I’d- I’d like it if it would come from you.” He met Q’s eyes again, hopelessly trying not to give too much away.  
“It’s embarrassing.” Q said eventually. “I much prefer the code name.”

Bond’s heart sank. He clearly didn’t trust him that much.

“I understand.” He chuckled. “Except now I’m even more intrigued.”

He was trying to turn a downright depressing few seconds into a joke. He’d hoped Q would be the one person he didn’t have any secrets from, but he’d fallen at the first hurdle.

“I will tell you.” Q walked round his desk, the block of wood now separating him from Bond. “But I’ll have to write it. I had a very unusual childhood.” He sighed. “If you tell anyone I will probably kill you.”

Bond laughed. He actually bloody laughed. Properly. He noticed how his only laughter happened when Q was with him, or speaking to him, or in his mind. That should worry him, but instead it made him deliriously happy. 

Q walked around to the other side of the desk, writing on a post it note. He then slid it across the wood, avoiding Bond’s gaze. 

Bond stepped forward slowly. Swiping the square up, he crumpled the post-it note in his hand without reading it, smiling at Q’s confused look.

“If you don’t want me to know, that’s fine. I’ll remain professional even if you don’t.” he teased. 

Q looked suitably abashed, seemingly struggling to respond. “Thank you.” 

Curiosity couldn’t overcome his feelings for Q. Bond had learnt a lot over the years, met a lot of people, and he knew basic psychology. The post-it notes were on this side of the desk. When faced with the prospect of revealing his name, Q had automatically separated himself using the desk, meaning he had to reach over for them. He was trying to use objects as a barrier, showing he was clearly very uncomfortable with the idea. And that was the last thing Bond wanted. 

Of course, that could all be psychological nonsense. Bond was past caring. Q’s expression was enough to tell him what he’d just analysed.

“I rang you because I wanted to hear your voice.” Bond broke the uncertain silence without thinking. 

Shit. What had he just said that for? If that wasn’t a recipe for awkward situation then what the hell was?

Q looked at him in shock, his sharp, intelligent eyes softening.  
“You couldn’t sleep.” It wasn’t a question. He knew. The next soft words were a question though. “Did it help?”

Bond wordlessly nodded. Q gave a small smile.  
“Was anything in particular troubling you?”

Yes, Bond thought, I’m old. I’m losing my touch. This is a young man’s game, and I don’t know if I’m bloody cut out for it anymore. But if I don’t have this, then what else do I have? Everyone I know is either here or has had their life knocked out of them. To top this all off, I’ve fallen for a ridiculously attractive computer genius who technically could be half my age and probably thinks I’m just another mentally scarred agent who has ‘seen too much’.

Bond thought that. He’d thought a lot recently. Too bloody much, if you asked him. 

“Lots of things.” He croaked out.  
God, was he about to cry? This was so ridiculously pathetic and out of character that he could have thrown open the door and run out just to get away from Q, away from this unfamilar situation.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Q stepped closer. “I think both of us have things we don’t really like to share.” He took Bond’s hand, and blood starting thumping and drumming in the older man’s ears, his lungs seized up and he didn’t know what the hell this all meant. At all.  
“But you can ring. If it helps. And I’ll come round, if it makes you feel… better.” His hand dropped Bond’s, as if he had just woken up from a reverie.  
“Thank you.” Was the only feeble response Bond could offer. Because in reality, the man was in fact offering so much more than he could show gratitude for in words- the only thing that could possibly drag him up from this feeling of worthlessness. Company.

Maybe the relationship would come later. Maybe it-

The younger man’s lips brushed against his own, quickly, briefly, reassuringly.

Maybe it would come quicker than expected.

Q stepped back, looking shocked at his own actions. Bond wasn’t surprised by his response. Had the quiet, computer obsessed quartermaster really just instigated a kiss with him? The older, isolated agent who was practically famous in the service for his love-them-and leave-them kind of attitude? To women?

But in that one moment, Q had shown him that he wasn’t alone. He could see past the image Bond had built up over the years, and seen the miserable man underneath. He was willing and prepared to offer Bond someone he could trust. Just someone he could speak to during those restless nights. 

And Bond couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks very much for reading and being so lovely, especially as this is the first time I've used this site. This ending got a bit slushy at the end so I do apologise, but I hope it was the ending people were looking for, and I wanted to round this off before the dreaded weekdays and school returned. 
> 
> If you feel any warnings need to be added, please just mention it in the comments. I'm still very much getting used to the site, which is why there's no warnings or proper tags. So I promise I won't be offended!
> 
> Thanks again everyone :-)


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